


Knifework

by astudyinpanda



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Audio Format: MP3, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinpanda/pseuds/astudyinpanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The knife is the Winter Soldier's real weapon. The engineers obsess over the metal arm, and yes, it's useful. It's not a rifle. It's not a blade. It's not the same. [text + audio link]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knifework

Audio at <https://soundcloud.com/astudyinpanda/knifework>

* * *

The knife is the Winter Soldier's real weapon. The engineers obsess over the metal arm, and yes, it's useful. It's not a rifle. It's not a blade. It's not the same.

With the knife he can be so perfectly, pristinely _right._ When the edge sinks into flesh, he can tell in a fraction of a heartbeat whether he made the kill or was a few millimeters off. He can tell before the target knows they're cut. He can tell before blood wells in the wound.

There's nothing in the blood itself that satisfies him. It confirms the death he felt through the blade, or the miss. Blood is old news. By the time the target cries out, he's already on one of two paths: Egress to his evacuation point, using appropriate evasion protocol, or the next assault.

In the rare cases his first strike isn't lethal, the knife grants him a welcome reprieve. The rifle must be reloaded. The fist must be drawn back. The knife is already slashing in a second deadly arch the instant he senses that the first wasn't enough to complete his mission.

He will never fear failure, nor pain, with a knife in his hand.

Which is why, when the hilt is knocked from his hand in the most important fight of his life, because it is _now_ and it is _his mission..._ He pauses. It is the briefest of hesitations, the slightest moment of recalculation. It has nothing to do with the breath-shattering impact against the vehicle behind him.

Failure is possible.

Pain is inevitable.

His armor soaks some of the target's follow-up, but his ribs take more. Red blossoms behind his eyes. Pain pounds with his heart. His backup weapon, more a part of his body than even the knife, turns the next strike, but the target slams him to the street. When he rises, he has the target by the throat.

There is something deeply _wrong_ with directing the metal fist toward this target. He's never felt that before. This is not a tenable position. He throws the target from him, his own ribs tearing at him in the effort, to buy himself space to free a second knife.

The target blocks, and blocks, and blocks. Infuriating. This time when he's thrown, he does not lose his weapon. The mask rips off instead.

Pain was always inevitable.


End file.
